LA 2040
by Angel Sacrifice
Summary: Spike in LA in the year 2040, living a miserable existence, and searching for the one true love of his life. Plus a VampWillow cameo!


Author: Angel Sacrifice  
  
Email: sunless_undead@hotmail.com  
  
Homepage: http://www.geocities.com/romanticvampirelovers  
  
Title: LA 2040  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Archiving: Wherever you like, so long as you tell me!  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
LA 2040  
  
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I wake up and thank whatever gods are looking out for me that I've survived another day. It's not easy in this place. I slept in an insulation space in the wall of a house, it was slightly damaged – enough for me to slip inside and pass the daytime there. I dread to think what I'll do if it's fixed, although that could easily be tomorrow. What do I do the next day and the day after? I expect I'll survive. I always do sometimes, even here. But I've been running dangerously low on the red stuff lately.  
  
This town is sterile. Clean, tidy, unmarked (except for a few areas which are due for repair), and mind-numbingly boring of course. Everything's so bloody *safe*, that's the problem. People are living in a plastic world. I'd kill them all in the blink of an eyelid, if it weren't for that one small problem… No, I'm not talking about the chip. I lost the chip 30 years back. It sort of stopped functioning when a demon I was fighting beat 9 shades of hell out of me, and bashed my head in pretty badly. I took time to recover, but when I did, it was brilliant. I could kill. I *did* kill. Within a week I'd got tired of the Slayer and killed her too. I make it sound easy, don't I? Well, it wasn't. She was the toughest one yet, and we had a massive fight, loads of violence, I came *this close* to being killed, but I caught her out in the end. Ah, the good old days. But, I digress. The problem for me these days is those bloody androids. Artificial Intelligence or some bollocks, although, if you ask me, they're about as intelligent as two short planks. They're mindless drones, like zombies – *worse* than zombies, at least those *used* to be free thinking flesh and blood at one point. These things are just machines, no matter how sophisticated they're made. And I'm not ashamed to admit that they scare me.  
  
You have no idea what it's like trying to find a kill round here. I creep out of wherever I've been hiding as soon as I wake up, and keep to the shadows until the sun sets. I'll walk desperately through the unnaturally clean and orderly streets, trying to find something – anything – to feed off of. No luck, most nights. There aren't even any *rats* in the streets, never mind the occasional homeless bloke you would have found in the old times. The sunlight these days feels less strong (slightly more time to duck for cover if you're ever caught short) but that's the only single improvement. You're starved, vamped out and crawling through the street, just looking for a single mouthful of blood. Then you suddenly notice a young man or woman, out on their own, walking down the street without a care in the world. They're not protected, they don't look like they're doing anything they'll be immediately missed from, no demon vibes… it's your lucky night. You pounce, and you realise what's wrong. It's a fucking *machine*. I've had more decent attempts on my life from those things than from all the Slayers put together. They've shot me, stabbed me, laser-beamed me, nearly cut my head off… if they ever put faith in the 'stakes and crosses' idea we wouldn't have a hope. Fortunately, there are still *some* real humans around here, but nowhere to dispose of the bodies properly. I just don't think I can go on like this. But I have to.  
  
I got lucky tonight. There was a man in his thirties, drunk out of his skull, who'd just been kicked out by his wife. Thank fucking hell for dysfunctional relationships. But naturally, after I'd fed, it tended to bring back my own less than pleasant memories. I was that man, once. I told her I wouldn't stand for how she treated me… but really, she just treated me like that because I wasn't giving her the right attention she deserved. Then after years I got bitter, and when she came back, I decided to reject her. I didn't bloody *want* to, but I wanted to hurt her… to make her feel something like the pain I'd gone through for her. I bet it worked, too. Plus, at the time, I had this obsession with the Slayer… which was incredibly unpleasant and demeaning… not worth repeating. Ever. I'm through with Slayers, completely finished with the lot of them. I'm not going to go out of my way to search them out anymore, they're more trouble than they're worth. So tonight, I killed the man, and spent the night sitting on a rooftop under the stars, drinking from some random bottle I've had shoved in my coat for these last few days. I'm not sure what it is, exactly, but it's strong enough to do the trick. I hate that I need to blank out my memories like a human being… like I've got a soul… but this isn't regret for being evil. This is regret for letting someone leave.  
  
Funny how even now so little has really changed. Nobody believes in vampires, except for the obvious few who have become really *involved*, and then they usually wish they'd never found out. Around the time that the 'safe areas' were created, people noticed the deaths like they never had done before. So who did they blame? Not humans, of course, and not vampires. Demons were found out, one after another, but the ones that *looked* harmful were the ones that suffered. People didn't want to shove blame on to something with a human face, after all. So groups formed, that went out at night and hunted things down, even if they'd done nothing wrong. I was still able to kill without any trouble, and most vampires took to being secretive and blaming other demons as the humans did. I found the whole thing amusing. Part of the trouble with people finding out that vampires were real was the number of vampires in positions of power and influence in human society throughout the world. They didn't want people knowing, did they? They had the ability to pull strings and cover up facts, and they did this to protect themselves and their kind. Demons became hunted creatures, and although quite a few of them still exist to this day, it was hard for them. Not many creatures can stand up to an angry mob and live to tell the tale… and, now I'm bloody thinking of *her* again. She lived through Prague, she was stronger than anyone gave her credit for… I'm certain she's still alive to this day, and I'd give anything to see her. Sadly, that's unlikely to ever happen, because I'm stuck in the 'safe area' of what used to be LA. You try to leave safety and you'll be hurt.  
  
I wonder what the rest of the world is like. Outside of these safe cities and their interconnecting tunnels, things must have changed. But it wont all be like this, that's for certain. Food still has to be grown *somewhere*, and it's not like the world is wealthy enough to provide safe, clean, comfortable living for everyone. Images of plantations, city slums, peasantry, council estates flicker through my mind – but I don't know which of my memories will best correspond to today's reality. I've seen all of these things, but every time I see poverty and degradation it's different. British council houses looked like dull-grey rubbish-surrounded identical blocks of depressing blandness. Slums in the Victorian cities were half- bricked half-planked ugly constructions, falling apart, cold, rained upon (and through), riddled with disease and filth. American plantations looked like large cheerful houses flanked by wide fields of crops and poorly- constructed ramshackle huts where the slaves lived. Extremely different, but similar only in the sense that this was a place for the poor, the losers, the unlucky ones. The ones who would find only a page mentioning their struggle in the history books, while the rich and powerful elite have page after page devoted to their simple trials and tribulations. I'm evil, so I don't really care, but it's funny how life's like that.  
  
I leap down from the rooftop, slightly tipsy and feeling in the mood for a bit of action. I'm bored of this place, and I need some entertainment. I hear footsteps a street away, and walk over to see who else is out this late. Well, what do you know? Demon hunters. There aren't as many of these gangs as there were 20 years ago, but they never completely disappeared. There's only three of them. This ought to be fun.  
  
"Shh!" exclaims the tall, dark haired man, who looks like their leader. "You hear that? I heard something."  
  
"Show yourself!" a girl with red hair and full ninja style get-up calls out confidently.  
  
"You think it's a creature?" the shorter, sandy-haired man asks. Demons got all sorts of nicknames over the years from humans – 'creatures', 'hostiles', 'sharks', and funnily enough, 'vampires'. The first man shrugs.  
  
"Hi." I step forward, and they see my face. They relax, because I look like them. Idiots.  
  
"You're out late." The girl tells me, frowning. "It's not safe, you know. A demon got my little sister the other week. My advice is that you should go home."  
  
"Well, my advice is that you don't tell strangers how to live their lives." I tell her, with a smirk. "I'm willing enough to fight with your guys here."  
  
"Really?" The tall man asks. "We *could* use another pair of hands."  
  
"But we're serious." The other man tells me. "We're looking for demons, and we're not afraid to fight them."  
  
"I've had previous experience with 'em." I say, looking the picture of courage and righteous conviction. They fall for it, and soon I'm walking around the streets with the gang. It's interesting to hear their stories, just to pass the time. It would be too suspicious to kill any of them off immediately, so I end up walking with them for almost an hour, before my stomach is clenching at the fact that there are three human beings, right here, and I'm not killing them immediately. First up, I expect, is the youngest. The sandy haired short-ish boy called Frank, who seems to be pouring out his life story to me. Why would I want to hear it? I just want him to pour his life out to me, full stop. I stop him, and wait until the others have tramped a fair few metres ahead.  
  
"We're behind." Frank tells me. "Why have we stopped? We'll lose the others."  
  
"Don't worry," I said, "you'll see them again soon enough."  
  
"Ok," said Frank, "so lets go now and catch up." He made a motion to do as he said and catch up with the others, but I held him by his shoulders.  
  
"Oh no." I said, turning to game-face. "Not yet. I think you ought to have a quick lesson on what exactly makes a demon." He screams out loud as I lower my head to his throat, but is quickly quietened as I bite in and suck at his neck. He only whimpers as I drain his blood, and as soon as he dies, I hurry to catch up with the others.  
  
"Quick!" I exclaim, "Something's got Frank!" Without a second's hesitation, they run back, only to find Frank's body lying dead on the concrete ground. The two of them look shocked and determined.  
  
"Right, lets split up and look for this thing – if anyone sees it, don't try and tackle it yourself." The girl, Marie, says. "Did you get a good look at it?"  
  
"It was big…" I say. "It had antlers, and green skin, and claws…"  
  
"Ok." She says, pulling out a gun from her waistband. "We'll miss you Frank. You fought bravely."  
  
"Damn monsters." James says, taking out a crossbow. They walk off in opposite directions. I think of what they're carrying and decide to follow the girl – better to be on the safe side.  
  
After I've followed the girl for quite a long way through various alleyways, I kill her. She didn't even have a chance to fire at me. Then I look around, and realise to my dismay that I am completely and utterly lost. Perfect. It's an area of the city I've never been in before, and the fight left me a little disorientated, so I don't even know what direction I ought to be facing in. Well, sitting around didn't get anyone anywhere. I look up and down the narrow street and start walking. Hopefully I'll find somewhere to shelter before sunrise. After walking for about a mile and a half, I begin to wonder. Exactly how long *is* this bloody street? The buildings to the side of me are all a lot taller now than they were at the beginning of the road, they make me feel about an inch tall. I walk on, for another half a mile, until I come to a high, grey, brick wall. At least two metres above my head. To my left and right are massive buildings with no doors or windows on this side.  
  
"Great." I mutter to myself, wondering if I should start walking back now. Then I notice the metal slab in the road. Ah! A sewer! Sue me for not being discriminating about these things, but I honestly can't be bothered going all the way back now. Besides, I want to see what it is that's being so effectively blocked off. I let my eyes wander around the deserted alley until I spot a large brick slightly dislodged from a building. With all my strength, I kick it out, and lift the heavy lump of stone in my hands. I slam it down hard on the corner of the slab, on one of the four large bolts holding it in place, until it's bashed out of shape enough for me to pull out quite easily. I set to work on the other three.  
  
Finally, after almost half an hour of battering the drain cover in, it's looking very much the worse for wear and battered enough for me to remove it. Throwing the heavy drain cover aside, I stretch out my arms. I'm a little worn out, and very glad that I've fed on two humans tonight to give me strength to carry on. I leap down into the dark hole in the ground, and – fortunately – land on a dry stone platform. It really, really stinks down here. I walk on, my eyes adjusting easily to the pitch-blackness of my surroundings, and see I'm in a long tunnel, with a stone walkway on one side. There's nothing better I can do, so I walk for a few miles into the sewer. I can feel the sunrise not far off, so I decide to lay down here and get to sleep. Hopefully any daylight authorities that see the state of their drain wont bother to come in this far. Unless they send in a droid, and if that happens, I can quite easily get rid of it into the sewage. Infra red is still a long way from matching up to a vampire's night-vision, and I've got myself a handy little gun now, so I've got the advantage. Now, if I can just try and ignore the stench and get comfortable on the hard stone, I'll be fine.  
  
I wake up, and look around me. It's hard to sense the sun on the surface through the stink of the sewers, but I can tell it's diminishing. It'll be sunset soon. It's very quiet here, no pipes leading down to anywhere nearby, which means I'm probably near to the end of a line. Suddenly, I hear a noise, and jump to my feet. Peering through the darkness, I see growing ever closer, a human form. But I can tell by listening closely that it hasn't got a heartbeat. Knowing it's hopeless to try and run away from the thing, I walk closer to it, slowly. It stops and waits for a while, apparently looking around for any signs of life. Then it carries on another few metres towards me. Eventually we're a metre apart, and I expect it to do it's worst. It doesn't. Instead, after looking around, it starts forward again, and I back up quickly so it won't bump into me. It looks to be armed with some serious killing equipment – one of those huge electric laser guns amongst other things. For a second I'm confused, then I realise why it doesn't see me. It sees with Infra red, that means it uses heat sensors! And conveniently enough, vampires are as cold as any dead thing when they've not fed for a few hours. With a loud, echoing laugh, I smash the android as hard as I can against the wall a few times, then drop it into the raw sewage, watching it sink slowly. Then I continue on my merry way.  
  
Eventually I come to a place with a big grill, where the sewage is pouring out into a concrete canal. I am *not* about to jump in and swim, but the stone walkway extends a few feet past the grill, so I could have a chance to climb up the side. I kick in the grill, and walk out, very thankful to be in the fresh air that smells gorgeous, compared to the insides of the city sewers. Fortunately, the top of the sewer pipe is within my reach if I jump, and I do so, pulling myself up. As an afterthought, I throw the gun down into the canal – it's not like I need it, and I've never been a very good shot with those things anyway. Then I walk towards what looks like a town in the distance. The ground I'm walking over is dry and dusty, and amazingly enough, it's the first time in 14 years that I've walked on any ground that wasn't concrete. The houses I see look small and roughly built, like small towns I knew in my youth, in the UK and abroad. I realise with a jolt that I am *definitely* not in the safe area anymore. Somehow, I managed to break out of LA. With a sudden surge of happiness, I walk to the town, feeling huge relief, now that I am finally *free*.  
  
The houses are old-style, built out of brick and wood – not the new extremely strong concrete/iron blocks that the houses in the safe cities are made of. The road is cracked everywhere, as if it hasn't been repaired in a very long time. Fortunately though, around here there seem to be very few cars. None have driven past me on the road so far. In the distance I can see over the top of a hill, the tops of the tall city buildings. I smile, thinking how glad I am to be out of that miserable place. After surveying the place and the old fashioned style of the town, I step into a bar. Immediately I'm out of place here, but I couldn't give a toss, quite frankly. I just want to sit down, have a drink… then go out, and have a *drink*. The liquor here is good, very good, unlike the "wine" brought into the cities which is some alcoholic drink, purified and sanitised and very low in actual alcoholic content. Here we have wine, lager, vodka, and by god, there's even whisky. I know it's not top quality, something in my body reminds me that I've tasted better, but it's fucking *whisky*, and it's been so long that I just don't care. I was getting looks from the locals – not surprising, when you see me compared to them. They're workers, clad mostly in dull cheap clothes with stringy hair hanging around their faces. For that, I'd probably blame fascism. Or whatever the hell they call the government now, I never really paid attention to it much, but it definitely degenerated from its noble Demon-fighting right-wing ideals, into a militaristic organisation, gaining power through fear. And then they just stopped telling anyone anything, and we're all in the dark. Personally, it doesn't bother me, but I'll join a riot if there's one going. Hurrah for violence.  
  
I glance across the bar after my third shot, and see a head full of rich red hair. Gorgeous. In fact, if it hadn't been so long ago, I'd swear it was… she turns around and I see her profile. It *is* her! Willow Rosenburg, Scoobie Witch! Just like I remember her. Well, what are the chances, eh? I walk up next to her.  
  
"Evening, Red." I say, causing her to freeze. She whirls around, astonished to see me.  
  
"Spike!" she exclaims. "This is such a shock! I didn't expect to run into you here. How is everything? You look great." I smirk.  
  
"I'm doing ok," I say, and look her in the eye. "You're not looking bad yourself – not aged a day, so it seems. Tell me, what's your secret? Been using that Oil of Olay stuff? I hear it works wonders…" She giggles, and takes another sip of her wine.  
  
"Well, after you got Buffy, there wasn't a new Slayer." Willow explains. "Just Faith, who they had to let out of prison in England. So the vamps kinda had a field day after you walked out, and most of us got killed outright. I got turned."  
  
"Right." I say. "And she lasted how long?" Willow's eyes twinkle mischievously.  
  
"All night." She replied. "I killed her in the morning though." I grin widely, and decide that this Willow is a huge improvement on the girl I used to know. Even her clothes are better – she's wearing leather trousers, a scarlet long sleeved t-shirt and combat boots. It suits her no end.  
  
"So, you completely sworn off blokes now?" I ask. "Cos if you're not, you know…"  
  
"Stop right there." Willow says, hopping nimbly off the barstool. "Firstly – I'm not completely against the male species, but I don't often find them sexually attractive. I'm more comfortable with a woman. And second… there's someone I think you're a lot more interested in than me." Then she's gone. Leaving me with my failed chat-up, and a mystery on top of that. Damn the girl. I wonder what she meant? She probably just wanted to get me off her case, get me to go and look for another girl. Well, never mind. I down another few shots of whisky, and begin to feel the effects. It's a good feeling, all I need now to round off the night is some nice, hot, human blood. I slip out of the pub without paying, and walk through the streets. It's late, but hopefully not *too* late for people to be walking about… ah, yes. There's a young man walking the other direction to me, down an alleyway – too easy, really. I catch him up, quickly snap his neck, and drink. Delicious. I drop the body, and almost fall over, tripping over another body in the alleyway. It's a recent kill, puncture wounds on the throat, I'd write it off as perhaps being Willow's if it wasn't for one thing. A handkerchief, bloodstained, carelessly dropped at the victims side. White and edged with lace. I hold it up to my nose, and inhale the fragrance… *Drusilla*.  
  
I half walk, half run through the streets, looking. She can't be far from here, she can't have left town yet… But she could be anywhere, anywhere around here. I'll find her, I have to, I know I will. After a few streets though, my pace has slowed to a walk, and I still can't see any sign of her. I don't even know what I should be looking out for. "Dru!" I call out. "Drusilla! Drusilla, can you hear me?" No answer. I find myself standing outside the pub again, and walk in, feeling defeated. I look the barman in the eye and ask, "Have you seen a woman called Drusilla? Look, it's real important that I see her, I have to find her…" he shakes his head, and I fall into a barstool. This is not working.  
  
"Drusilla, you say?" a man next to me raises an eyebrow. I look around at him.  
  
"Yes, you know where she is?" He smirks, and shrugs.  
  
"Lets discuss this outside." He suggests, and we walk out of the door.  
  
"So, where's Dru?" I ask impatiently. He rolls his eyes.  
  
"You're not from around here." He points out. "I'd say you came from another town, but then look at your hair, your clothes… I'm willing to bet that you're one of the city escapees. We hear about them a lot, but I've never seen one myself."  
  
"That's nice. Tell me what I want to know!"  
  
"Ah ah ah, not so fast." He holds up his hand. "If you come from the city, you'll be pretty well off. A rich man desperate to find a woman… and I'm the one who can help. For a price." I take some notes from my pocket and shove them into his hand. He tries to contain his excitement.  
  
"That'll do." He says. "Wilson street, house number 23, but my advice to you is to stay well away from her. There's something dangerous about that woman. My best friend, a strong man, went to visit her one day – and he never came back. The story is that he left town, but he wouldn't have – not without saying goodbye to me, anyway. I'm telling you the address, and I'm telling you to stay away from it." He turns to go back into the pub. I put my hand firmly on his shoulder.  
  
"She's dangerous, I'll admit, but you know what? So am I." I tell him, and snap his neck, before rooting through his pockets to reclaim my money and steal his. Then I walk off – 23 Wilson Street it is.  
  
The house is older than most of the others, it's near the edge of town and the gardens aren't exactly well kept. It's constructed from wood, it's fairly large, and around the door is a decoration of birds, flowers and butterflies in bright red and purple paint. I smile at the contrast between rotting wood and pretty little designs. This is where my princess resides, no doubt about that. I walk up, and knock on the door. A young blonde girl answers.  
  
"I'm here to see the lady of the house." I tell her, and she steps back to let me in. I pause a second, unable to pass through the doorway. "Am I invited in?"  
  
"I know better than to invite anyone into the house without permission, first." She says, narrowing her eyes. "Either you walk in, or you leave."  
  
"Listen girl, Drusilla *knows* me. If you don't let me in, either I'll kill you or she will. Got it?"  
  
"Sorry." She says, sounding anything but. The door closes.  
  
"Drusilla!" I call out, my voice sounding hoarse in my ears. I hear footsteps behind me, and turn around. She's standing at the gate, dressed in a long, dark purple skirt and a black lacy top. Her hair is in loose dark waves hanging over her shoulders. Her eyes are dark as ever, smudged with kohl over the lids, and her lips are bloodstained. I'm suddenly aware that I'm staring like an idiot, and I look down at my feet.  
  
"My Spike… you came home to me." She says, looking me in the eyes, her expression both sad and loving. "You were very cruel to me before. She twisted your mind and made you see things all wrong."  
  
"Oh, love, forgive me." I plead, stepping forward to take her hand. I drop to one knee and kiss the back of her cold white hand tenderly. I've done her so bloody wrong it's not true. I need to make things right. "I was horrible to you. I was cruel and unfair and nasty. She's nothing to me now."  
  
"She gave you kisses," Drusilla says, swaying gently, "and her arms, and she took you into her bed. And you gave her shadows and… death." She takes my hands and makes me stand before her. "You killed her?"  
  
"I did." I say. "I killed her and left her bones in the woods. She's gone, Dru." Drusilla looks at me in wonder, then kisses me softly, and a smile comes to her face.  
  
"Why, my William, you don't taste like ashes any more." She tells me in a whisper. "You taste like fire."  
  
"Yes." I say in a breath, and I know she's forgiven me, because she can sense the aching in my heart that was always there for her. "I've missed you, princess." I say, tracing my fingertips across her face, and neck. "I thought you'd gone forever."  
  
"I told you you'd kill her, Spike." She says conspiratorially. "And I knew you'd come back when you had. Fairies whispered it to me. They all knew you were wicked as ever."  
  
"I'll never leave you, never again." I promise her, and we kiss deeply, passionately, holding each other close and I drink in the scent of her hair, of her skin, of *her*. We separate, and she leans upon my chest, listening to my heart not-beat like she always loved to. "Now how about we go celebrate?" I suggest. "There's a lovely little place all filled with people just down the road, and you've not fed yet." She licks my neck softly, pricking the skin ever so slightly with a tooth, and tasting the drop of blood that gathers there.  
  
"We'll have a party." She says, echoing what she'd said once in the past. "We'll have wine and all the people, and we'll dance around them all." I take her hand, and we walk together back to the pub. She smiles as she gazes up at the stars glittering in the night sky.  
  
  
  
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